


Two (or Three) Mutant Freaks Against the Fourth Grade

by Rockinlibrarian



Series: The Childhood Friends AU [1]
Category: Legion (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Elementary School, Bullying, First Meetings, Friendship, Geeks, Gen, Mutants, Name-Calling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29725863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockinlibrarian/pseuds/Rockinlibrarian
Summary: "Can you keep a secret?"Or, what would happen if you took two mutant nerd-boys from opposite ends of the earth and dropped them together a decade or so ahead of schedule-- in elementary school?
Series: The Childhood Friends AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205846
Kudos: 4





	Two (or Three) Mutant Freaks Against the Fourth Grade

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a child-Oliver flashback in chapter two of my Astral Plane fic, and went, "Hey, I wonder what it would be like if Cary and Oliver met in elementary school?" and my brain went, "but they didn't," and my other brain went, "THIS IS FANFIC, STUPID, WRITE AN AU."

Oliver greeted every new thing he encountered with enthusiasm. He liked his new school, his new town, his new country; he liked his new teachers and new classmates. There was nothing to indicate this school would be any more welcoming of his energy and impulsivity than his old school, but that didn’t matter yet: right now it was new, and exciting, and everyone had an accent out of a Hollywood movie. Anything could happen.

And Oliver liked science class on any continent. They were learning about electricity today. Oliver already knew a lot about electricity, but he liked to hear about it, picturing electrons jumping about (it reminded him a bit of himself, to be honest). He tried to think of something funny to ask when the teacher finished with, “Are there any questions?” just to add some flavor to the discussion.

But she called on a skinny, bespectacled blond boy in the front row. He spoke quietly, but deliberately: “I-i-if a battery can run a motor, and a, a rotating magnet can create an electrical charge, then would it be possible to construct a self-recharging battery, w-with a magnet on a...on a motor in it?”

Now _that’s_ more _like_ it! Oliver pulled himself further up onto his feet (which were already on his seat) than he was already sitting, and stretched over his desk to be nearer to the front. Someone was finally asking the real questions!

But the rest of the classroom suddenly filled with jeers.

Some of it was simple complaining: _Here we go again; Spit it OUT, already, Cary!; He’s always gotta drag out every lesson; Why can’t he just talk to HIMSELF as usual?_ Some of it was outright cruel: _I’m b-b-baby P-p-Powdered-Milk and I think I kn-n-now everything!_ on one side and _Always acting like he isn’t just his whore mommy’s half-breed bastard!_ on the other. But most of it was simply a cacophony of mean names, some of which Oliver didn’t even understand: _nerd, wimp, pussy, pretendian_ (what?), _fag, dork, idiot-savant_ (okay, Oliver was a little impressed with that one, that was advanced for fourth grade), and, multiple times over, _FREAK_.

Oliver was shocked. How could the teacher even _allow_ such a nasty ruckus? She simply smiled and calmly said, “I don’t know, Cary, that’s something else you can look up at the library,” though Oliver could have sworn he’d also heard her say, _Oh, god, someone please move this kid up another grade already, this is above my pay_ —

OH. No one had _said_ any of that.

It was only The Voices. He still had to get used to The Voices all having American accents now.

But The Voices always did seem to say what people were really thinking. Why would all these kids be thinking such mean things about a small, shy boy who’d said the most interesting thing Oliver had heard anyone say since he’d _come_ here? It seemed awfully short-sighted of them.

Oliver studied the quiet boy for the rest of the morning. He always seemed to be thinking, and doodling, and taking everything the teacher said very seriously, and he did indeed, as The Voices said, frequently seem to be talking to himself, under his breath. Whenever he spoke up, to ask or answer a question of the teacher (never to another student), it wasn’t loud and he often stuttered, but _what_ he said was always deep, and different, and _smart_. Oliver made up his mind.

At recess the boy sat in a corner of the schoolyard, away from the others, reading. Oliver walked over to him and peered upside down at the pages of the book. Magnetism. Cool.

The boy slowly looked up from his book. Oliver met his eyes and blurted, “Hello, it’s Cary, isn’t it? I liked your question in science. Do you want to be friends?”

He frowned at Oliver for a moment, and finally said, “What?”

“Oh, sorry.” Oliver squatted down so they were at eye-level and held out a hand. “Oliver Anthony Bird. I just moved here from New Zealand.”

The other boy looked suspiciously at Oliver’s hand. Finally he shook it, briefly, loosely, and said, “Cary Loudermilk. New Zealand? That’s…that’s um…really f-far away.” He blushed and turned back to his book.

“About as far as you can get,” Oliver said proudly. Then, “I don’t know, maybe we’re not far enough east.” He tried to picture a globe in his head, and got frustrated trying to see New Zealand and Montana at the same time. “Do _you_ know? You’re intelligent. That’s why I think we should be friends.”

Cary gave him a dark look over the top of his book. “I w-won’t do your homework for you.”

“That’s no problem, I can do my own homework. I’m intelligent, too.” He paused. “But sometimes I turn it in late.” Another pause. “Usually. I usually turn it in late. But I _do_ it myself!”

“Um-hmm.” Cary didn’t look up.

“Why aren’t you playing with the other kids?” This was the key question, the one The Voices had hinted at but failed to satisfyingly answer this morning.

Cary glanced at the basketball court, where most of the rest of the class had broken into an intense dodge ball session. “We, um…don’t really have any…common interests.”

Oliver nodded and sat down beside him. He put on a serious, grownup voice. “The age-old dilemma. Adults expect any random selection of same-aged children to naturally take to each other, regardless of actual compatibility.”

Cary seemed unsure whether to frown or smile. “I _guess_ so.”

“I, on the other hand, have _lots_ of common interests.” That didn’t sound as impressive as he’d meant it to. “And uncommon ones. My point is, everyone needs at least one friend.”

“I do have a friend,” Cary said quickly, then suddenly clammed up.

Oliver waited a moment. “Well…I can be _his_ friend, too. Who is he?”

“ _She_. She’s a she.” Cary was looking at him earnestly as he said it, then ducked his head deeply into his book. “For…forget I said anything.”

“Why? Because she’s a girl? I don’t care. I like girls. Besides,” this was a conclusion Oliver had only recently come to, “girls are pretty.”

Cary made a bewildered face at him. “No, that’s not why.”

Oliver waited for him to elaborate for as long as he could handle. He did a somersault to expend some energy. Then finally he said, standing on his head, “Why, then?”

“Why what?”

Oliver rolled back to the ground, and looked up at Cary backwards. “Why can’t I be her friend, too, _and_ yours?”

“It’s…complicated.” Cary looked at his book again, but didn't seem to be reading it. 

Then a girl’s voice said, _I think we can trust him_.

“Yes, of course you can trust me, I’ve—” Oliver looked around. “Who said that?” Too late he realized it was only one of The Voices.

Cary gaped at him. “You heard her?”

…or, not? “Heard who? Where is she?”

Cary paused. He closed his book, set it aside, and leaned in toward Oliver. “Can…can you keep a secret?”

“Sure!” Oliver said with more confidence than he probably ought to have. He _did_ have a habit of blurting things out. But he really _could_ keep a secret, if it was important. He’d kept The Voices secret, after all.

“Okay.” Cary glanced back at the basketball court to the right, then scoped out the other direction, then muttered, “to the left, then.”

And suddenly, to Cary’s left, there sat a dark-haired girl. She waved. “Nice to meet you, Oliver! I’m Kerry Loudermilk.”

Oliver didn’t know what to react to first. “Did you just appear out of thin air?! Why do you have the same name?! _You’re_ his secret girl friend, then?!”

“His what? Ew, no, I’m not his girlfriend!”

“She’s my _sister_. AND friend. And…and…”

“And his bodyguard!” the girl chipped in cheerfully.

“And…and I guess we’re also, technically, kind of…the same person?” Cary looked sheepish, but at the same time somehow more at ease than Oliver had seen him all day. “That’s why we have the same name. But she’s Kerry with a K and I’m Cary with a C.”

“How can you be two different people _and_ the same person?”

“Like this,” Kerry said. She slid toward Cary and disappeared again. Then she reappeared— but Oliver was watching this time— like a ghost sliding out of Cary. She settled on the grass again and said, “See?”

Oliver couldn’t help it. He reached out to poke her in the arm. She felt solid.

She frowned and poked him back. Hard. So he poked her again just on principle. She poked back with a viciousness he would never have expected from what he knew of her brother…friend…host body? It didn’t seem to matter, now that they'd gotten into a full-on poking battle.

“Okay, okay, stop, geez!” Cary tried to pull them apart. “You’re gonna get me all bruised.”

“You’re the only one _not_ getting poked!” Oliver protested. Kerry burst out giggling.

“It’s not funny,” Cary tried to say, but he had started giggling too. Oliver couldn’t _not_ giggle in the face of such absurdity, and he didn’t even know what it was they were laughing about.

Then Kerry cut her giggles short, and said to Oliver, “But you still didn’t answer our question!”

“What question?”

“How did you _hear me_?” She leaned in intently. “Only Cary can hear me talk when I’m inside.”

“It’s not sound,” Cary added. “It’s more like…like thoughts.”

Oliver froze up. He wasn’t entirely sure of the answer anymore, anyway. Finally he said, “Can _you_ keep a secret?”

Cary and Kerry exchanged the briefest of looks before dissolving into giggles again.

“Alright! I get it!” Oliver laughed, too. “I suppose we’re now about to be bound in a mutual pact of deep dark secrecy.” He said it in a dramatic, movie-spy voice.

Then he remembered what he was about to say, and sobered up. “Sooooo….” He took a deep breath. “About a year ago, I started…hearing things. Things that aren’t there. Voices.”

Cary and Kerry exchanged another look, this time much heavier. Oliver’s face grew hot. “I know, I know, yes, like a madman! But I swear I’m not mad!”

Cary held out a hand in a calming gesture. “Wh- what do you think my mother thought when I, when I told her about my sister who talks inside my head?” he said softly. “Go on. You can trust us.” 

“But she’s _there_ ,” Oliver sputtered. “You’ve got _proof_. All I’ve got is the fact that The Voices do usually turn out to be telling the truth. But now, one of The Voices turned out to be _you_ , which makes me wonder, maybe they’re not just random Voices, maybe they’re thoughts. I’m hearing… _thoughts_. Other people’s thoughts.”

He laid back in the grass. “But it’s not like I can read people’s minds. Not on purpose. I don’t control it, I just hear it, sometimes. And half the time I don’t even realize what I’m hearing until it’s too late, and I’ve already said something stupid out loud, like just now, when I heard you. People can be weird about it. Naturally, I suppose. I’m lucky so far that no one’s carted me off to an insane asylum, but how long can that last?”

He didn’t look up. He could tell the other two were exchanging yet another weighty look, and it made him feel self-conscious. But something about the way Kerry said, “Yep,” then chuckled, surprised him. He sat up. There was sympathy in the look they were giving him. And a sort of resignation.

“Believe us,” Cary said, “We know all about being, being careful not to get carted off.”

Kerry was squinting at Oliver. “Are you an Indian? You kinda look like you could be—”

“Ker—”

“I didn’t say you _have_ to look like an Indian to be Indian, I just said _Oliver_ looks like—”

“He _can’t_ be an Indian b-b-because he’s not even from North America!”

Oliver blinked. He’d been here long enough to know that when people in this part of Montana said “Indian,” they weren’t talking about people from India, but it still took some mental shuffling. “I’m half-Maori,” he offered. “That’s sort of the same thing. The Maori lived in New Zealand before the British took over, so—” he shrugged.

“Do they have Residential Schools in New Zealand?” Cary asked darkly.

It seemed like a loaded question. “You mean…boarding schools? Yes, for rich kids, or kids who live in the middle of nowhere.”

“No, for Maori,” Kerry said. “To teach you how to be white.”

“No, there are just schools, and you…” Oliver made a face. “…they _do_ that here?”

“Our mother,” Cary said slowly, “was put in a Residential Indian School. They wouldn’t let her go home to see her family, or even… or even talk to them. They wouldn’t let her speak Lakota or, or do anything remotely Sioux, until they were convinced she was sufficiently… _white_. So, she vowed she would never, ever let anyone take me—er, _us_ —away from her as she had been taken. But it’s difficult, you know? Because she’s a single mother, so people are always looking for any excuse—”

Oliver heard a woman’s Voice, then: _If we are going to survive as a family unit we need to make sure not a single trace of this Kerry Delusion ever leaves this house. Social Services would be on us in a snap, you understand?_ Was that their mother? Was it…a memory, maybe?

“It does help that I _look_ white,” Cary went on. “Most people don’t think to question it unless they’ve seen Mama.”

Oliver stared at the pale blond boy in puzzlement. “So…you’re _not_ white?”

“ _No_ ,” Cary said vehemently. “Not really. Not by, by heritage. I’m one-hundred percent Lakota Sioux. It’s just a genetic anomaly. A, a mutation.”

The word set something off in Oliver’s mind. “A mutation!”

“A mutation is when the genes—”

“I know what a mutation is, I told you, I’m intelligent, too. It’s simply given me an idea, that’s all.”

“An idea about what?” Kerry asked.

“About me! And The Voices!” He jumped up. “I hear things other people don’t hear, right? But it’s not just random hallucinations, it’s people’s actual thoughts! So maybe my genes have mutated to give me…an extra sense, see. I can sense other people’s thoughts because that’s just the way I’m _built!_ It’s science!”

He collapsed back onto the grass, staring at the sky. “There’s a _perfectly rational explanation_. For _everything_. If you just _think_ hard enough.”

“Mutation.” Cary shrugged. “Well, mutation can cause conjoined twins—Siamese twins—to develop, too, out of incompletely separated identical twins—no one’s ever thought it could happen with f-fraternal twins—” he glanced at Kerry “—especially ones who can separate at will. But I, I guess no one ever thought somebody could develop an extra thought-sensing sense, either. So who knows. F-freaks of nature happen all the time.”

“Freaks.” Kerry cackled at little. “We’re freaks in a freak show. Step right up, see the mismatched Sioux Twins and the Boy Who Hears Thoughts!”

“I prefer to think of us as ‘genetically enhanced individuals,’ thank you!” Oliver said in a grand voice, then he paused. “I like that, actually,” he said in his normal voice. “Enhanced. Like—like superpowers.”

The school bell rang. Kerry disappeared. Oliver watched their classmates fall into line at the door as he and Cary crossed the schoolyard. He considered the mean thoughts he’d overheard that morning. _Freak_. Oliver smirked. _Genetically enhanced individual_ , he thought back at them, feeling curiously superior. He glanced over at the boy they’d been scorning, a boy who was so much more than _he_ seemed, too. Oliver sighed with contentment. He had picked the exact right person in class to befriend.

Cary must have felt him watching, and looked over. Oliver grinned at him. “Two mutant freaks against the world,” he whispered.

 _Three_ , a Voice corrected. No, not a Voice. Kerry.

Oliver and Cary exchanged a grin, and repeated, in unison, “ _three_.” And three mutant freaks together went in to face the fourth grade.


End file.
